


This is The End

by timelordy_teganbreann



Series: This is The End [1]
Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:50:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordy_teganbreann/pseuds/timelordy_teganbreann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been called back to the army to help fight the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is The End

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a quick fill for an ask I received on Tumblr requesting an "apocalypse Johnlock fic" and this is all I could muster up. So, now that I have an account here, I thought I might as well publish it on the site. Thanks for reading!

"But I love you."

John inhaled sharply and lifted his chin irately, mentally reminding himself that punching Sherlock bloody Holmes would not do any good right now. Any other time he might have given in to his desire to give him a nice solid fist in the face, but not today. He did not need a whining, bleeding Holmesian child on his hands when they were already so full.

Steeling himself - duffle bag in one hand and his jacket in his other - he turned to look at the lanky, pyjama-clad man on their sofa before delivering his words carefully. "Sherlock. I have been called back to the army - the very same one that forced me to leave - because the whole sodding world is going to hell. How can you-" John stopped himself short. Using the breathing technique his therapist had given him to use to calm himself down, he counted to ten, and then continued.

"Please don’t- Don’t say that. Not right now. Not when…"

His words faded away into nothing as those beautifully impossible eyes pierced through him. This time, unlike their usual cold demeanour, Sherlock's eyes had something akin to _real emotion_ behind them. Something so raw and human and _pained_ that it felt as though another bullet had ripped straight through the muscles in John's shoulder; a jagged knife through his breaking heart.

"They need me. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "The End" by Doors.


End file.
